“Oh!” Daphne exclaimed. “Mama will be expecting me to help Cook, and I haven’t even changed my dress!”
“You may tell her it’s my fault, for keeping you chatting in the corridor,” Theo said gallantly.
And of all the excuses she might make, Daphne thought, that was the last one she would choose. Mama might excuse her dallying with Sir Valerian by the river, but lingering in the corridor to converse with, as Mr. Potts had said, a common laborer? Impossible. And on the subject of Mr. Potts . . .
“No matter how tardy I might be as a result, Mr. Tisdale, I cannot go without first thanking you for coming to my aid,” she said warmly, raising shining eyes to his. “I shall never forget it as long as I—” Suddenly conscious that she was saying too much, she broke off abruptly and ducked into her room quite as quickly as Mr. Potts had done.
She hastily divested herself of her second-best morning gown, donning instead a faded round gown of blue calico before hurrying down the stairs and through the baize door that led to the kitchens, as eager to avoid her mother’s censure as she was to escape the realization that, had it been Mr. Tisdale who had seized her in his arms and covered her face with kisses, her response might have been quite different.
“DAPHNE, MY LOVE, YOU have miscounted,” her mother chided, looking up from her own task of slicing bread to nod at the stack of plates Daphne carried. “You’re a plate short. Now, what can be the cause of this sudden absentmindedness, I wonder?”
Her mother’s coy manner and knowing look gave Daphne to understand that she was more than forgiven for her tardiness, so long as it was Sir Valerian who had been the cause of it. “There is no error in the number of plates, Mama. I—I believe Mr. Potts will not be dining with us.” In fact, she had hoped that Mr. Potts had broken the news to her mother while she had been changing her dress. Her heart sank at the realization that this task must fall to her. She recalled hearing the sounds of heavy footsteps on the stairs as she dressed, followed by the slamming of the front door, and only hoped Mr. Potts had remembered to settle his account, as he had promised.
“Oh?” Mrs. Drinkard asked. “Why not? Surely he is not ill! Perhaps a cup of broth in his room—”
“No, no,” Daphne assured her. “In fact, Mr. Potts intends to leave us. Indeed, I—I believe he may have done so already.”
“To leave us!” echoed Mrs. Drinkard, dismayed at the prospect of losing a boarder—or, more specifically, the rent money that boarder brought in. “But why, pray, should he? And with not a word of warning, too! It seems most unlike him.”
“He had—words—with Mr. Tisdale.”
“But he has been with us for two years, and Mr. Tisdale for hardly more than a fortnight! If one or the other of them must leave, it should be Mr. Tisdale!”
“You do not understand, Mama. Mr. Potts was clearly in the wrong. He made, um, unwelcome advances to me, and released me only when Mr. Tisdale intervened. It is a good thing he decided to leave on his own, and spared you the unpleasant task of insisting that he go.” Something in her mother’s expression suggested to Daphne that events would not have played out in quite that way. “Mama! You would not have allowed him to stay, after taking such liberties!”
“Well, but Daphne, my love, boarders who pay their rent on time aren’t to be casually dismissed. Who knows how long it may be until another one comes along to take his place?”
“Casually? Mama, he forced his attentions on me!”
“And it was very wrong of him, to be sure! But, well, when an attractive young woman lacks the protection of a father, or even a brother, such impositions are not uncommon. You would do better in the future to avoid situations that might put you in danger. Not that I think you were ever truly in danger,” Mrs. Drinkard put in quickly, “for I’m sure Mr. Potts would never do anything to harm you.”
“No, he only intended to slobber all over my face and push his horrid tongue into my mouth!”
Mrs. Drinkard grimaced. “Pray do not be vulgar. I can see the incident has upset you, but I am sure you are refining a great deal too much upon what was no more than an unfortunate misunderstanding. Now, that table isn’t going to set itself, you know.”
Correctly interpreting this observation as a dismissal, Daphne turned to go. Upon reaching the door, however, she paused to turn back. “And what if it were Sir Valerian making such advances, Mama?”
“I’m sure Sir Valerian would never do anything so ungentlemanly—especially now that he is standing for Parliament,” Mrs. Drinkard added in a more practical vein. “How fortunate it would be if he did! For then I should let him know in no uncertain terms that he had compromised you, and insist that he do his duty as a gentleman.”
“What duty is that, Mama?” asked Daphne, fairly sure that she already knew.
“Why, what else? To salvage your reputation by giving you the protection of his name.”
“But you feel no such inclination where Mr. Potts is concerned?”
“A fledgling lawyer who won’t take silk for a decade or more? If he ever reaches the heights of his profession at all, which is by no means certain. Good heavens, no! I wonder you should have to ask such a thing! Sometimes I wonder about you, Daphne, truly I do.”
Mrs. Drinkard was still shaking her head over her daughter’s recalcitrance as Daphne left the kitchen with the stack of plates.
Dinner was an uncomfortable meal, as old Mrs. Jennings and Mr. Nethercote had to be informed (the latter several times, and in a loud voice) that Mr. Potts would no longer be residing there. Then, too, there was Mrs. Drinkard’s obvious displeasure with Theo. Fortunately, neither of their elderly boarders inquired as to the nature of his infraction, being too caught up with the unexpected luxury of dining on sirloin of beef (two days old already, and thus had from the butcher at a very good price) to take notice of anything else. Whatever the cause of their inattention, Daphne could not but be grateful for it.
Any hope that Mr. Tisdale was unaware of his fall from grace, however, was dashed after the meal had ended. The company rose from the table with much scraping of chairs, but when the other boarders left the room to repair to the common drawing room or their individual bedchambers, Theo hung back.
“Yes, Mr. Tisdale?” Uncomfortably aware of her heart hammering against her ribs, Daphne averted her gaze and focused all her attention on the stacking of now-dirty plates. “Was there something you wanted?”
Following her example, Theo busied himself with collecting the empty wineglasses. “Only to ask, if I dare, what I have done to put myself in your mother’s black books.”
She sighed. “You have deprived us of a paying resident—and one, moreover, who, unlike poor Mrs. Jennings, is never late with his rent.”
“Have I?” Theo asked in some consternation. “But surely you must have told her why—”
“Yes,” Daphne said in a flat voice. “I told her.”
“And?” he prompted.
“And she says young women who have no father or brother to protect them must learn not to be shocked by such impertinences.”
Theo, stunned by such maternal negligence, could only stare at her. “The devil she did!”
“To be fair, I think she did not know exactly what else to say,” Daphne acknowledged. “For she is quite right, you know. Women have little enough recourse as it is, and under the circumstances—” she broke off, shrugging.
Theo considered his own sister. Even before her marriage, he couldn’t imagine any man dealing Lady Helen Radney such an insult, but not because of anything he or his father might have done in retaliation. No, if anyone had tried such a thing, Nell would have—would have—
“You need to learn to defend yourself,” he pronounced.
She looked up from gathering the used silverware. “I beg your pardon?”
“You need to learn to defend yourself,” he said again. “I’m glad I was able to come to your aid today, but I might not be there next time.”
“Perhaps Mama is wrong, and the
re won’t be a ‘next time,’ ” Daphne said, with more hope than conviction.
Theo shook his head. “Meaning no disrespect, Miss Drinkard, but have you looked in a mirror lately?”
As the significance of this question dawned, Daphne became very busy with the collecting of crumpled linen serviettes.
“I meant no offense,” Theo said, moving around the table to open the door so that she might pass through, “but if it is as your mother said, and you must learn to expect this sort of treatment, then it behooves you to know how to protect yourself. I can show you how. After all, I once—” He broke off abruptly. I once popped a hit over Gentleman Jackson’s guard, he’d almost said. Although this gratifying experience had been the envy of all the bucks and Corinthians who had been present on that occasion, it was unlikely that a mill worker should ever have had occasion to feel this particular thrill.
“You once—?” Daphne prompted, when he seemed disinclined to finish.
“I once acquitted myself rather well during a dust-up at the mill,” said Theo, improvising rapidly.
“I see,” she said, regarding him thoughtfully. “But I don’t think that was what you were going to say.”
“No, but it wouldn’t be fit for a lady’s ears,” he assured her. “Tell me, is there somewhere we could meet after we take these things down to the kitchen? I can teach you how to make very short work of any future Mr. Pottses.”
Daphne considered the question. “Papa’s study is seldom used,” she said at last. “But you need not go down to the kitchen with me. If you will set those glasses down, I shall come back up and fetch them in a trice.”
“Never!” he declared. “What if some lecherous fellow should be lurking on the stairs waiting to accost you, and you not yet trained in the art of self-defense? I should never forgive myself.”
She giggled a little at that, and allowed herself, against her better judgment, to be persuaded. It really would not do to continue to hope for what could never be, to say nothing of the unfairness to Mr. Tisdale in encouraging him to think she was free to return any very obliging sentiments he might feel for her. And yet, if Mama were right, and she must expect gentlemen to treat her as a lightskirt, surely it would only be wise to learn the most effective way of acquainting them with their error. She preceded Theo through the green baize door and down the stairs to the kitchen. Cook, busy filling the large basin with water for washing the dishes, looked up at their entrance, but although she regarded Theo curiously, she offered no comment.
With the two of them working together, the table was cleared very quickly, and it seemed no time at all before they entered the small room that had been her father’s study, and Theo closed the door behind them. Given the events of early evening, she should have felt extremely uncomfortable being alone with a man. But she did not—at least, not any longer—and her very lack of any such qualms was enough to make her uncomfortable.
“Now,” Theo pronounced, “for your first lesson—” For one mad moment, Daphne thought he was about to kiss her himself. She felt extremely foolish, and strangely disappointed, when he only said, “You should never have threatened to box his ears. All you did was put up his guard.”
“He’d guarded himself pretty well already,” she recounted bitterly. “I couldn’t have boxed his ears in any case, for he’d pinned my arms to my sides.”
“My dear girl, why do you think he’d pinned them there?”
“Do you mean,” she asked in growing indignation, “that he immobilized me on purpose?”
“From his perspective, he’d have been a fool not to,” Theo pointed out. “After all, you’d given him no reason to expect that you would welcome his attentions. Surely he must have known to expect some measure of resistance.”
“Well! I confess, I had been feeling a bit guilty about Mr. Potts, and the way his departure must grieve Mama, but I shan’t feel guilty any longer! But tell me, what should I have done? I couldn’t box his ears, but I couldn’t slap his face, either. What can one do, without the use of one’s hands—stamp his foot, perhaps?”
“Only if you wanted to give him a good laugh,” Theo said with brutal candor. “If he was wearing boots, it’s unlikely he would have felt it much.”
“What should I have done, then?” Daphne asked eagerly.
Theo hesitated, conscious for the first time of the degree of delicacy required in explaining to a gently reared young lady the intricacies of kneeing a man in the groin. “There’s a particular area of, er, a man’s anatomy that is particularly susceptible to—let us say, attack.”
“And I should hit him there?” Daphne balled one fist in anticipation. “But where is it?”
“Not with your hands,” Theo objected, suppressing a shudder. “They’re pinned to your sides, remember?”
“Then what?” she demanded impatiently.
“You need to lift your knee very suddenly—your skirts are not so straight as to hamper such a movement, are they?—and catch him in the, er, between his legs.”
Daphne, who had been anticipating some far more dramatic display of pugilistic skill, found these instructions rather disappointing. “That’s it? That’s all?”
“It will be enough, I assure you.”
She regarded him doubtfully. “And that will make him release me?”
“It will make him drop to his knees and wish he’d never been born,” was Theo’s emphatic reply. “But you mustn’t dither, and for God’s sake, don’t warn him of what you’re about to do! Just jerk your knee up, and make sure the movement is quick and hard—er, forceful,” amended Theo, wondering why he had ever thought this was a good idea. “Now, we’d better get out of here before your mother begins to wonder at your absence and comes looking for you.”
“But—but hadn’t I better practice first?”
“Good God, no!” exclaimed Theo, taking a hasty step backwards, just in case she should feel compelled to put this new skill to the test. In a gentler voice, he added, “I daresay your mother is wrong, and you’ll never have to actually use it. Few men have reason to come here at all, and even if they did—well, anyone can look at you and tell you’re a lady, in spite of your reduced circumstances.”
She gave him a little smile. “Thank you, Mr. Tisdale.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Drinkard.”
She made no further attempt to detain him, and waited fully ten minutes before following him from the study, lest her mother see and deduce that they had been closeted together. She was obliged to pour tea in the drawing room that night, and no one seeing her perform this task for the other residents would have believed her to have noticed, much less felt any disappointment, that Theo had chosen to seek his bed before the tea tray was sent up. And yet she lay awake in her bed long into the night, hearing again in her mind his voice asking, Have you looked in a mirror lately? and thinking to herself, Mr. Tisdale thinks I’m pretty.
12
One good turn deserves another.
GAIUS PATRONIUS, Satyricon
AS HE SET OUT FOR THE mill the following morning, Theo was conscious of a sense of reluctance that had little to do with the long hours of drudgery that awaited him there. No, this new disinclination concerned Miss Drinkard. He was aware, in a way he had not been before, of the precariousness of her position. He supposed there must be young women all over England who were just so uncomfortably placed; he had never really thought about it before. Because his sister had always seemed well able to take care of herself, he had assumed (if he had ever considered the matter at all) that any female of mettle would be equally competent. It had never occurred to him that Lady Helen’s independence had owed as much, and quite possibly more, to her father’s position as it did to her own sharp tongue.
Not, he told himself firmly, that Miss Drinkard stood in any real danger now that Mr. Potts was gone, for he could not believe old Mr. Nethercote or the middle-aged curate, Mr. Nutley, posed any threat. Granted, Sir Valerian Wadsworth hung about the house more than Theo could
like, but as he was standing for Parliament, he was unlikely to cross the line of what was proper; aside from the fact that he would want to remain in Mrs. Drinkard’s good graces in order to use her house for his meetings, he would not want to risk his candidacy with charges of shameful conduct.
About Mr. Potts, though . . .
Mr. Potts could not go far, as he must needs remain within easy reach of his employer’s chambers. Theo’s brow creased at the thought of the aspiring lawyer. What a cabbage-head! Theo had always assumed it must take brains to read for the law, but apparently he was mistaken in this assumption; anyone but a regular clunch must have known that, if a female did not already return one’s sentiments, forcing unwelcome attentions upon her was unlikely to inspire her to do so. Not that Theo believed Mr. Potts’s actions had been inspired by the tender passion. No, he suspected the fellow’s pursuit of Miss Drinkard had more to do with ownership than affection: Mr. Potts just wanted to prove to everyone else at the boardinghouse, and perhaps everyone in the surrounding countryside, that she was his.
Theo’s frown deepened at this last, for it sounded uncomfortably familiar. His own sentiments toward his erstwhile mistress, La Fantasia, had not, after all, been so very different. His securing of Fanny’s favors had made him the envy of every buck and blade in Town; he’d been aware of this highly gratifying fact every time he had squired her to the theatre, or Vauxhall, or any of the Cyprian’s balls where gentlemen of fashion could show off their current bits of muslin (or sniff about for new ones) unencumbered by the delicate sensibilities of wives or sisters. And yet he had never for one moment considered offering her marriage; indeed, he would have scoffed at the notion that he ought to have done so. Even their very public split had inspired no sense of heartbreak, or even of any real pain beyond that of deeply wounded pride.
He was still frowning when he entered the mill and took his place at the power loom.
“Something troubling you?” asked Tom, looking up from feeding thread into the loom with calloused yet nimble fingers.
The Desperate Duke Page 12
